


The Shame In Grieving Something That Was Never Yours

by L_C_Weary



Category: In the Company of Shadows - Sonny & Ais
Genre: Author Fails In Mentioned Task, Author Tries To Swear And Slang Excessively To Match Character's Speech Style, Decisions, Emilio Is Bad At Feelings, Emilio Is Not Fully Aware How A Healthy Relationship Should Work, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mentions of Sex, Regret, Running Away, Swearing, This Is Due To Who He Is As A Person, offensive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_C_Weary/pseuds/L_C_Weary
Summary: He successfully ran away from the Agency. He should've felt relieved. He should've been grateful that everyone who ever knew him thought he was dead.





	The Shame In Grieving Something That Was Never Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Is this fandom dead? I hope it's not, it's an amazing fandom. I've been watching silently, I've read the books a year ago now, but this is the moment I publish my first fic to this little fluffed up family. I have so many ideas, is it worth to share it on the interweb? I probably will, even if I only get like five to ten hits, but kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thanks and enjoy.
> 
> Not first language. No beta. You can figure the rest.

The van wasn't big but it gave Emilio far more space than he expected. It smelled of his own sweat and rotting flesh that was left by a not so thorough cleaner. It was the property of a black trafficker, working in the meat industry. He was the guy at the wheel, while Emilio was the expansive shit he transported. In this special case the expansive shit payed for himself.

The back of the van was stuffy and he felt like choking on something. It was the air, he was sure.

He was looking at the slits between the veils of the back of the vehicle, desert and bright sunlight flashing in front of his eyes. He blamed the nausea on this.

He pulled a small flask out of his jacket's pocket and he took a giant glop, considering how much whiskey he had left. He couldn't risk getting drunk but the border was hours away and if the gringo fuck in the front hadn't sold him out, which he made fairly clear was not something either of them wanted, nothing was going to happen until the evening.

So, now, he was alone with his weapons, but mostly his thoughts and that was something he shouldn't be afraid of. Still. The hotness, the airlessness, gave him a bad feeling which was a pity. Emilio wasn't some white bitch with no heat tolerance. He must have had a fever.

That was a dooming sign. It wasn't high possibility but if the Agency did suspect anything he couldn't let his guard down. Yet he wouldn't know it until it got to him. As long as he did not get drunk, or fell unconsciously asleep, he could do nothing but wait and hope, even though hoping was not something Emilio Vega did.

He, however, wanted nothing more at the moment, than to be distracted from his thoughts. He went through his plan once again, acting his scenes out in his head. He wasn't a coward or a lunatic he shouldn't be scared by what his head contained. He just refused to listen to it.

The problem was, he couldn't control it anymore. His thoughts were confusing, a jumbled mess. At that moment he didn't even care that his mind was working on sentimental bullshit, that it wanted to make him question his own decision. Decision he oh-so-carefully cultivated then put into plan. He just wanted the flood of thoughts to have an end.

He thought about Hsin, his quiet, sarcastic, in general bitchy ways. His love for books, his insatiable appetite, his precocious mind and soul. The darkness in his eyes as he murdered for him, because of him, him. Emilio knew that darkness all too well, but he clearly never experienced such an uncontrollable frenzied killer-soldier-mind-loss-party. It was something even he had to fortune to escape.

That boy got ruined for good, he was sure. He must be sure. Otherwise he should and could question his own choices which was deadly in a situation like this.

Well… Not really. The whole deal was too fucking perfect, he even needed to boost his paranoia in order to be alert enough, conscious of everything to not to go mad. Mad with annoyance.

His thoughts, wondering back to the thing he lost got him an image of Doug disapproving face. He could imagine that sorrow fuck to be even sad for him. He was not sure why he got to like the Aussie that much, their similar view of life helped. He did lose a great, the best even, drinking buddy, smoking buddy and fucking buddy, in a sense where you didn't fuck but fucked next to each other. Or the same chick at once. Nothing homo to make sure. Emilio almost smirked. But to that line of thought other straight as an arrow people flooded his mind.

One particular.

And that one could go fuck himself.

He hated Zach, really. His fucking hero complex, his black and white morals, his conviction that he was aware of everything, that he saw everything crystal clear, that he knew everything better. His loyalty towards the Agency, most specifically to its rules and shit was just as frustrating as his fake loyalty towards Emilio.

Because it was fake, that fucker proved it. He was just a self-centered and an egoist and a fucking moron. It was pathetic he ever fell for his shit. Emilio was almost ashamed for himself. Zachary was a theater in himself nothing more than distraction, just a bitch who wanted, who _did_ climb the echelon as his companion and he felt not even friendship towards him.

Emilio's mouth tasted like shit and not just from cheap, gas station whiskey. He was rarely mistaken when it came to physical attraction and he was sure as fuck Zachary wanted him. He was just a pussy. Afraid how it would affect his fragile masculinity and other upper-class-ish bullshit words that usually came out of his mouth.

He put the flask to his lips again.

Zachary and his stupid baby blue eyes. Those fucking pools of anxiety. He didn't really want to recall that fucking face. That fucking face that made him want to punch him, dismiss him, kiss him and fuck him at the same time with the same high volume intensity. It was one of the big wonders of their half destroyed world, why he felt the way he did.

Because at this point even he felt like he had to admit it. He did grew fond of Zachary, sure, but these days it felt more intimate, even though their relationship, their partnership was ruined, its remains shifted towards real companion ship. Yet again Zachary made it clear he despised him for it. Just because he enjoyed Emilio railing his ass. It was a coward move.

It was true that they had to do fucked up shit to get through the hellhole that was Brighton, but that was the shit. They did rely on nothing but each other and Zach was now pretending it was some crazy bullshit Emilio pulled out of his own ass just to mess with him.

Not that it was Zach's idea. Or that he enjoyed fucking at least equally. Now, that was surprisingly fantastic. Zachary fucked like virgin half the time, thanks to the fact he virginified himself again, because "my dead wife would be upset if I would have fun with others while naked, this is how I paint the martyr picture of myself". God, that was so annoying. After so many persuasion it seemed like he had no clue how to fuck but that was far from the truth.

The sex was better when they were drunk and not thinking about why they were doing it or where they were doing it. It was dark and murderous when they were too aware of their surroundings, but when they were high… Now that was something out of that fucking world.

Frantic and mad. Tearing at cloths, biting and scratching and Zach making noised that would bring nuns to break their oath. And Emilio hated, _hated_ , how he just lost that shit just after being able to taste it.

Just because Zach had no guts. A fucking coward, self-satisfied, homophobic bitch of a person.

He poured the remaining whiskey in his mouth, 'cause nothing fucking mattered now. His pale blue eyes always told lies. What the fuck did he care?

Like, seriously, nothing mattered. The time they spent together, the shit they've been through. The hole Emilio pulled him out of, the hole of the grieving his family and his imaginary pureness.

Emilio closed his eyes for a split second. He needed sleep. He needed to relax. He needed energy for his new life. His new exciting life, thank _his lost stuff_ very much.

He let himself feel for the last time, before he focused on his promising future.

In all honesty, he did choose correctly.

His boy was beyond saving, his friends were replaceable and his Zachary… He was never his.

**Author's Note:**

> (Find me on [tumblr](http://answermywearyquery.tumblr.com/).)


End file.
